


Holiday House Party 1929

by 912luvjaxlean



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Jack in London, Original Character(s), Rom-com
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 02:24:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13226178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/912luvjaxlean/pseuds/912luvjaxlean
Summary: Phryne and Jack attend a New Year's Eve dance and encounter a school chum of Phryne's. Chaos ensues.





	Holiday House Party 1929

The music played. It was, of course, a waltz. Couples swirled around the lavishly decorated ballroom. One couple in particular stood out, he was handsome and she was stunning. They moved in the intricacies of the dance as though they had been created for just that moment.

The Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher and Inspector Jack Robinson danced together at the New Year’s Eve Ball given by Lord and Lady Loquacious, distant relations to the Fishers. Jack had followed Phryne to London as she had proposed in a parting moment at the airfield outside of Melbourne. And now, they were together at the holiday house party. They would see 1930 in together, in each other’s arms. It was the perfect ending to a year that had been challenging and not always happy.

They were a very stylish couple. Jack sported a dark blue tuxedo with satin lapels and satin trouser stripes. Phryne wore an evening gown in deepest blue with a capelet of lace in the same color, detailing in fine silver embroidery embellished the frock. She wore a brooch in the form of a blue swallow pinned to her dress and a silver filigree headpiece. She personified understated elegance.

The music ended.  Couples stood on the dance floor and clapped politely in response to the musical exertions of Larry Lamb and His Sheeptones. They waited expectantly for what might come next.

“And now!” bellowed the band leader, quite unlike his namesake animal.

“Oh no,” said Phryne.

“What?” asked Jack.

“Allow me to introduce…”

“It can’t be.”

“What?” asked Jack concern and confusion overlapping and giving him a tummy ache.

“A woman who needs no introduction…”

“Because she is notorious,” finished Phryne.

“La Escarolla!”

“C’mere.” Phryne said as she dragged Jack off the dance floor to the sidelines.

 “I want to watch the dancer.”

“No, you don’t.”

“On the contrary, I do.”

“Believe me, you don’t.”

“Allow me to be the judge of that, Miss Fisher,” said Jack through gritted teeth as he craned his head over the crowd and got a glimpse of a woman doing an energetic Charleston. The dance exhibition seemed to involve a lot of high kicks, finger snapping, eye winking and selling it to the crowd.

“La Escarolla is certainly athletic,” said Jack appreciatively.

“Ha!” scoffed Phryne in a seriously scoffing voice. “You mean, Mildred ‘Duck’ Mallard, don’t you? She always did hog the spotlight.”

“Whoa! What a move.”

“Cartwheel?”

“That it was,” said Jack.

“No knickers?”

“Not that I could see.”

“An old trick of hers to gain attention. When I did the cartwheel, I left MY knickers on.”

“You’re acquainted with her, then?”

“Unfortunately.” Jack crossed his arms and waited to hear more. “Oh, very well. We were at school together. We were friendly rivals at one time. Fringe is so last year, don’t you think?” said Phryne deflecting from Jack’s question.

“I like the way it shimmers when she moves.”

“Here comes the big finish. At long last.” La Escarolla gave it her all, shimmying, shaking and possibly shocking some in the audience with her bold moves and knickerless high kicks. “I patented that move,” said Phryne wistfully.  Jack applauded in approval, even whistled in his enthusiasm. “And now she’ll sing,” said Phryne

“Can we tempt you to sing?” the bandleader bleated.

“But first, we’ll have to beg her,” said Phryne as La Escarolla shook her head in denial. “Though she’s dying to warble.”

Jack tried not to laugh at his partner’s snippy asides.

“Ladies and gentlemen, encourage the little lady!” Larry Lamb cheerlead while His Sheeptones opened the charts that they had already rehearsed with the ‘reluctant’ singer.

“Little!” Exclaimed Phryne. “She’s certainly put on the pounds since taking up residence with the Conte in Pastafazool, Italy. I, on the other hand, haven’t gained an ounce since the last time I weighed myself.”

“Which was?”

“Last yesteryear. Alright, I did indulge in sweeties while I waited for you to arrive.”

Jack looked her over, paying special attention to her derriere. “You are perfect.” Phryne gave a small catlike grin in answer.

The audience grew louder and began to call out, “Sing! Sing!” As did Jack.

“Must you?’

“I must. I’m on leave. I’m here in London with you on New Year’s Eve.  I plan to have a few drinks and join in the fun. Sing!” he called out.

Phryne sighed. Knowing what would come next. La Escarolla would sing and all would be charmed yet again by her talented, spotlight stealing ex-best friend. And she did, and they were. Phryne wasn’t.

“Well time to go,” she said as the applause died down.

“We just got here. It’s not even midnight yet.”

“Don’t you want to go up to our adjoining rooms and be alone?”

“We’ve been in bed since I got to England. I want to see people.”

“Of course. Now that you’ve had your way with me,” she spat out.

“My way? If it was my way, we would still be in Melbourne.”

“Well, if you feel like that, why don’t you…”

“Darling!” A shrill voice pierced their miscommunication. A woman wearing a dress with fringe that flipped, flapped and fluttered passed through the crowd. [Like the Titanic setting out on her maiden voyage, like Moses parting the Red Sea, like Jack trying to get his part straight in the morning after a night spent with Miss Fisher, this mixed metaphor suggests the real determination the woman used to reach her destination.] It was too late to escape. “It can’t be!” Screamed La Escarolla making sure all heads would turn in her direction.

“It is,” mumbled Phryne as she tried to disappear into a curtain.

“Dearest darling delightful Fish,” La Escarolla emoted as she made sure the audience appreciated her alliteration.

“Hello, Duck,” said Phryne underplaying the moment and sincerely wishing it had been a Masked Ball.

They air kissed cheeks and pretended to be thrilled to see each other.

“And who? Are you?” La Escarolla asked as she looked Jack up and down and licked her lips.

“Jack Robinson, m’am.” He gave a small bow. Phryne snorted. He answered with some serious side-eye.

“La Escarolla. How do you do?”

“Quite well, thank you. That was a charming performance.”

“Thank you, kind sir.”

“It was both athletic and balletic.”

“I strive for perfection.”

“You forgot your knickers. Not too perfect there, Duck,” interjected Phryne.

“I didn’t forget them, Fish.”

“And lovely singing, may I hasten to add,” said Jack as he hastened to add.

“Thank you so much. I studied with Madame Borgia in Roma.”

“Don’t you mean, Murrders Music School?” Phryne asked.

“I had the lead in the operetta, as you well know.”

“Didn’t you play a horse?”

“No, that was you. The back end as I recall. Typecasting,” answered La Escarolla.

“Perhaps some refreshment, ladies?” said Jack looking for a way to both be useful and on the move.

 “Well, perhaps a small one. I don’t usually drink,” said La Escarolla demurely.

“Since when?” Phryne asked.

“Oh alright, if you insist. Double martini, two olives, stirred not shaken.”

“Champagne please, Jack.”

 “Right then. I’m off.  Must get those drinks,” said Jack as he escaped.

“He certainly can move fast,” said La Escarolla observing Jack’s rear view. “Nice arse.”

“You should see his jack-hammer move at the end of a session.”

“Love to. Want to trade? The Conte loves to use his mouth.”

“Tempting. But no. Jack put the lingus in cunny.”

“Foursome?”

“I can’t even laugh at the joke that is.”

“Shall we reminisce on the terrace?”

“Of course. Lead the way,” suggested Phryne.

“After you.”

“No, after you.”

“Together then?” said La Escarolla.

They went off arm and arm. The waiting crowd breathed a collective sigh of relief that no real warfare had broken out. Some of them still recalled past New Year’s Eves when brawls and hair pulling prevailed. They worked their way across the floor seemingly friendly, smiling and talking quietly between clenched teeth.

“Knife in the back at my come out. Told everyone I had a social disease,” hissed Phryne

“You stole my diamond earrings,” countered her ex-best friend.

“Earring. I borrowed one and pawned it for a ticket to Paris to escape the humiliation caused by you.”

“You wrote that anonymous letter to my father about my riding my riding instructor.”

“Bunny Worthmore wrote that. She hated you, too,” Phryne explained.

“Why?”

“Something about a sleep over gone deeply wrong.”

“Oh, that. I was simply curious about what one could do with a banana.”

“Well, you left her in no doubt,” concluded Phryne as they reached the terrace without physically harming each other. A smattering of applause broke out as they went out the French doors.

“So, Fish, that big handsome man?”

“Which one?”

“Your guest. Just a fling? A part time paramour? You’re not calling dibs are you?”

“Dibs!” Yelled Phryne.

“Damn.”

“He and I are practically-possibly-pre-engaged, perhaps.”

“A real commitment then? I am amazed. And challenged.”

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Perish the thought.”

“I’ll perish you, if you lay a hand on him.”

“I wasn’t thinking of laying him with my hand. Though that’s a good way to start.

“I mean it, Duck.”

“Of course, you do.  Just like I meant hands off Freddy Fender, but did you listen? No.”

“You didn’t miss much. He was a wet kisser, I needed to towel off after we snogged.”

“I loved Freddy,” sobbed Duck. Phryne looked at her in utter disbelief. “Oh, very well. I loved his fortune.”

“Freddy bats for the other team as you well know.”

“He was straight until you got hold of him. I’d hate to see you ruin that auburn beauty you’re currently shagging.”

They stared daggers at each other. Wordless antipathy permeated the perimeter.

“What took you so long? You look like a waiter with that tray.” Phryne said, attacking the first thing in her sight.

“I’m aware of that. I had to go back for more drinks when the first round was taken from the tray as I wandered around aimlessly unable to find you. But here I am.”

“Finally,” Phryne sniped.

“Yours, La Escarolla,” Jack said as he ignored one woman and served the other. He offered the martini to her. Then, he took his whisky.

“Jack,” said Phryne.

“Here.” He shoved the remaining glass her way.

“You’re not from London, are you?”  Phryne’s oldest and undearest ex-best friend moved in on Her Inspector.

“No. I’m from Melbourne.”

“Austria?”

“Australia,” corrected Jack with a smile.

“Same difference,” Phryne’s rival said coyly.

“Geography was never one of your subjects was it, Duck?”

“No. But, I remember you specializing in oral. History.”

“Well, it is a joy to reminisce, isn’t it?” Added Jack in a desperate attempt to quell the pending riot. “Bottoms up!” He and La Escarolla smiled at each other over the allusion to her dance. Then, they gazed at each other over their drinks glasses. Phryne glared over hers. “May I ask how you were given the name La Escarolla?

“It’s an honorific given to me by the people of Pastafazool to celebrate my charity work.”

Phryne choked. Jack reached over and hit her on the back.” Steady, old girl. Sip it.”

“She always was a guzzler, Mr. Robinson.”

“Call me Jack, everyone does.”

“Very well, Jack. And you may call me…”

“Saint Puttana?” Suggested Phryne.

“…Millie!”

“No need to shout, Duck. Jack’s hearing is fine, even if he lacks sense. Oh my, isn’t that Freddy Fender?”

“Where?”

“Made you look,” said Phryne in immature glee. “Actually, he’s standing with the Earl of Beaverbush and Prince Ballkizz. Excuse me. I must speak with them.” Phryne left with her champagne glass before she hurt someone with it.

“I thought she’d never leave. Should we just put our empty glasses on the tray? Are you cold? I am. Warm me up.” She pushed against Jack and shoved him into an alcove. Both of his arms were wedged behind him, as she rubbed and insinuated herself against him. “That’s better. Did you know that I’ve been widowed twice?”

“No, I…”

“My first husband, Charles Codcrabb, choked on a fishbone that was lurking in his seafood stew. He left me very well off. I dismissed cook with a generous allowance, of course.”

“Of course. Well, I’ll be going now.”

“My second husband, Richard Richashell, died in bed. But, he went with a smile on his face.”

“He went peacefully then? Can you please get off me?”

“He was on top of the upstairs maid at the time.”

“Off…me…” Jack said as he struggled against the boa constrictor twined about him.

“He left me a fortune. I’m now La Escarolla because while the Conte Escarolle and I are desperately in love, he has a wife living somewhere, he says. Thus, we cannot marry. Though I am always looking.”

“For what, may I ask?” Jack hoped to distract her with polite conversation while he squirmed around and tried to free a hand.

“My next husband, you pretty boy.”

“I think I should go now. May I go now? I want to go now. Stop biting my earlobe”

“So charming and so very civilized. Leanly muscled and such long legs. Do you like me between your legs, Jack?”

“Not at all. Not the ear. Not the ear.”

“Ooh, I like when you thrash around like that.”

“Madame, I am trying to extricate myself. Stop sucking on my neck.”

“Yes, yes, pretend like you are trapped.”

“I am trapped. Not the neck. Not the neck. I think I hear Miss Fisher calling.”

“If you mean her shrill unpleasant voice, you can hear her from miles away.” La Escarolla was now not only pressed against him and dining on him, she was sizing him up with her hand. “Fully cocked. I like that in a candyman.”

“Lemme go. Lemme go.” Jack escalated to panic mode as did his hair.

“Unhand him!” Cried a shrill unpleased voice. “Release him this instant!” Phryne positioned herself behind her rival, grabbed two handfuls of hair and pulled the molesting boa constrictor away.

 “Nooo,” shrieked La Escarolla as she ran from the terrace. Her fringe following frenziedly.

“I told you I heard her,” said Jack in smug relief.

Voices in the distance discussed the outcome of this year’s skirmish. “My money was on you, Miss Fisher,” Freddy Fender called out from the far end of the terrace.

“Thank you, Freddy.”

“Sod Freddy. I’ve been compromised,” said Jack.

“Did she hurt you?” Phryne brushed down his crumpled lapels and straightened his bow tie with her soothing hands. The satin stripe on his trousers needed soothing, too. As did the seat of his pants. So many wrinkles, so little time.

“My God, it was like being trapped in a vice. Is my neck bleeding? I think she took a chunk out of my ear.”

“Why didn’t you just tell her to stop?” Phryne asked as she examined his neck and ear for injuries. Then, combed his hair with her fingers to try and convince it to calm down.

“I tried. It all happened so fast. You wandered off. We were standing there and the next thing I knew she was inside my tux with me still wearing it. My willie hurts,” he added in a whisper.

“I’ll attend to Sir William upstairs,” she whispered back. “Now, didn’t mama know best about leaving this bad party and keeping baby safe?”

“Yes. Right as always, my darling. May we leave now?”

“Of course.”

“What’s that thing on the ground?”

“Her wig.”


End file.
